


The Frog and the Scorpion

by Hexiva, versaphile



Series: David/Farouk Fics [2]
Category: Legion (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blood, Dom/sub Undertones, Dubious Consent, Enemies to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Healing, Imprisonment, Injury, M/M, Mind Control, Mind Meld, Mind Sex, Mutants, Omega Mutants, Post-Episode: s02e11 Chapter 19, Post-Season/Series 02, Power Imbalance, Rescue, Sharing a Body, Smut, Telekinesis, Telepathic Sex, Telepathy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-01-18
Packaged: 2019-10-11 08:34:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,054
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17443517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hexiva/pseuds/Hexiva, https://archiveofourown.org/users/versaphile/pseuds/versaphile
Summary: After David is captured by Division 3, he refuses to accept that he's sick. Farouk is only too happy to agree with him, and to give David the "help" he thinks he needs.





	1. All you have to do is let me help you.

He almost made it out. If he’d just had a few more seconds to work before the gas got to him, he would have busted out of that bubble and the building and never looked back. Instead, David’s a prisoner, his powers stolen from him by Division 3, by the crown they forced him to wear in this dungeon of a cell. 

They said he was sick. They said they wanted to help him. Those were lies and he refuses to accept their lies. He's not sick, he's not evil. He’s going to survive this and he’s not going to let them change him. 

"I'm a good person, I deserve love," David chants under his breath, reciting the words over and over. Even if no one else believes it, he does.

“I believe you,” said a voice from the door. Farouk is there, leaning in the doorframe and pulling down his ever-present sunglasses to smile at David. He's delighted by what he sees there— the uncertainty, the distress, the confusion. This will be easier than he expected. 

"You," David snarls, furious. He glares at Farouk. This is all his fault, all of it. If David could just get this crown off, he'd finish what he started in the desert and smash Farouk's head in once and for all.

“But you can’t,” Farouk says, unphased. “How the tables have turned, no? All those years I was your prisoner. And now you are mine.”

"I don't know what you did to them, but I'm gonna stop you," David warns him. He's gonna figure out how to break this crown like Farouk obviously did, and then the tables are gonna turn right back around. 

“Are you so sure I did something to them?” Farouk asks. “After all, they are not the first ones to turn on you and try to lock you up. Look at what dear Amy did to you. Doesn’t that bother you?”

David scrambles to his feet and marches up to Farouk, getting right in his face. "Don't even say her name," he snarls.

“Or what?” Farouk asks, laughing. “You’ll beat me with another rock? Ahh, and here I thought you were the one who didn’t like violence. You’re turning into quite the hypocrite, my dear. Just like your father.”

David's never been a violent man, but no one pushes him to extremes like Amahl Farouk. He's been furious ever since he woke up in this cell and now the target of his rage is right in front of him. Before the voices in his head can convince him to not make things worse, David hauls back and punches Farouk right in the face.

Farouk has a split second to make a decision, and he chooses to take the punch. He reels back, one hand to his face, laughing softly. “Always— always the physical, my dear.” He licks his lips, and looks up, his eyes sharp behind his sunglasses. “We both know how dangerous it could be to try that again. I will forgive this little lapse, and you will not repeat it.”

David doesn't care about Farouk's threats. He has nothing left to lose. He lunges for him again, fist raised— and finds himself frozen in place, unable to move anything below his head.

Farouk approaches him slowly, his face full of mock sorrow. “My dear, my dear . . . you never learn, do you?” He reaches out and slowly runs two fingers down the center of David’s face, pausing at his lips.

David's heart races with panic. He tries to move again, to pull away to some safe distance, as if such a thing even exists. But he can't. 

“I am in control,” Farouk says, softly. “Don’t be afraid. I will take care of you.”

"Leave me alone," David warns—  _ begs _ . How did this happen? How did his life fall completely apart? 

"Because you didn't listen to me," one of the voices chides. "You're sick."

"Stop telling him that," the other voice growls back. "He's a god. The only reason we're down here is because they're afraid of us."

“Your vitriolic friend has the right idea,” Farouk says, his voice still calm. “We are gods. All I ask is that you understand that. Now— if I let you go, will you behave?”

David really wants to say no. He wants to keep punching Farouk until he punches that smug smirk right off his face for good. But he also wants to be able to get as far away from Farouk as he can, and he can't as long as he's frozen in place like this. "Fine," he spits.

“Promise me,” Farouk says, dripping smugness. “Tell me that you will behave.”

"Like you care about promises," David says, teeth bared. Farouk promised not to kill, he promised not to hurt anyone in exchange for David's help, and he killed and he hurt people. And now all that blood is on David's hands, too, and he never wanted any of it.

Farouk shrugs. “Very well, then.” He flicks a hand in David’s direction, and David gasps as his muscles take a step back on their own. At Farouk’s command, David’s body slides to sit neatly on the ground with its legs crossed. Farouk sits across from him. “I suppose I don’t need to return control to you. We can talk like this.”

David tries to stand up again but nothing happens. He feels powerless, like when they were in the fake Clockworks and Lenny— No, Farouk, Farouk was— "Why do you even want to talk?" David asks, strained and feeling absolutely at the end of his rope. "You won. Just kill me and get it over with."

Farouk frowns. “I don’t want to  _ kill  _ you,  _ joonam,”  _ he says, as if this should be obvious. He shakes his head. “Even after all these years, you still understand so little.”

"Maybe I'd understand more if you hadn't made me  _ forget everything _ ," David says, hearing the panic in his voice but unable to do anything to stop it. He's been on the brink of a complete breakdown ever since he woke up here, and he doesn't know how he's going to hold himself together much longer. "What do you want? Revenge? What's left to take?"

“You,” Farouk says, gently. “I want you.” He reaches out and takes David’s limp hand. “You’re so afraid, my dear. I can feel it. Let me help you. Ask me, and I will take the fear away. Don’t you want that?”

"No," David says, tightly. Farouk took everything from him, all David has left is what he feels. He won't give that up too. He can't take being paralyzed like this anymore, completely at Farouk's mercy. Syd said they wanted to help him, but what they really want is what Farouk is doing now: to lock him up and drug him until he can barely even move. "Please," he grits out, desperate. "Let me go."

“Promise me, my dear,” Farouk says, unbothered by David’s begging. “Go on.”

This is a nightmare. This is worse than a nightmare, but David's wide awake and it's happening and he can't do anything to escape it. The last thing he wants to do is give Farouk an inch, but to at least get control of his own body back— "I promise."

Farouk smiles, and control suddenly returns to David’s body, bringing with it an overwhelming sense of relief. “There. That wasn’t so hard, was it, my dear?” 

He’s still holding David’s hand. 

David yanks his hand back now that he can, and scurries backwards into a corner, not caring how it looks. He pulls in on himself, trembling. He looks up at the cameras. Someone has to be watching this. They can't just be letting it happen. But Division 3 threatened to kill him. They used him for what they wanted and now they're throwing him away.

Farouk lets him go, watching him with an air of faint amusement. “I can help you, you know,” he says. “These others— your ‘friends’— they’ve turned on you. But  _ I  _ won’t throw you away like that. I know you are worth more than that. All you have to do is let me help you.”

"And what does that mean?" David asks, bitterly. "You're the one who put me in here."

“No,” Farouk corrects. “They did.” He shakes his head, sorrowful again. “You see, my dear, how easy it is to be cast into the role of the villain. How easy it is to slip. I understand that. They don’t.”

David glares. Farouk understands that because he's the one who framed David in the first place. 

"You're really sick if you think going along with that psycho's gonna make anything better," the first voice tells him. "Forget him, just— Scream for help."

"They're not going to help us," the second voice says. "They put us in here and they don't care what happens to us now. We're just garbage to them. They scraped us off their shoe and walked away."

"Leave me alone," David moans, putting his head in his hands. He thought the voices were helping him before, but everything's gone wrong and he's so confused. Maybe the first voice is right. Maybe Syd's right. Maybe he is sick. But if he is— He knows what they'll do to him. They'll keep him locked up in this cell until they find a way to turn him back into David the zombie for good. 

If he's sick— 

“I won’t let them do that,  _ joonam,”  _ Farouk says. “I was there with you, don’t you remember? It frightened me. I won’t let them do that to us again.”

"Us?" David asks, tiredly. Farouk has his body, his freedom, he has everything. Why is he even here? "I thought I was your prison."

“Yes,” Farouk says, quietly. “So we were both trapped in Clockworks.” He tilts his head, watching David. “I won’t let them hurt you.” 

David doesn't want Farouk's fake kindnesses. He doesn't want anything from the monster who destroyed him. But there's no one else.

"They all know what we are," the first voice reminds him. 

"Yeah, and that's why we gotta take care of ourselves," the second voice says. "We gotta escape before they fry our brain. Who cares if he's the one helping us? We use him, we get what we need, and then we get the hell out of here."

"Ugh, fine," the first voice relents. 

David's panic starts to fade. Maybe the voices are right. If he can just— Use Farouk to escape— Figure out how to hide himself— He just wants to be somewhere quiet and green and far away from all of this.

“I’ve been coming to think about where I might have gone wrong, in our time together,” Farouk continues, smiling at him. "I almost had it right the first time. Clockworks, my false Clockworks— ahh, you would have liked it there, if I had only let you. You fight me not because you want freedom, but because you want  _ peace.  _ ” He leans in, his eyes lit with a frightening glint. “You can be happy here, with me. Let me show you that.”

"What, as your prisoner?" David asks, warily.

“As my— partner, shall we say,” Farouk says, apparently pleased by his own choice of words. “Two gods, ruling together.”

David doesn't feel anything like a god now. Whatever he felt after the desert, whatever grand delusions he had, they all crashed to earth when he couldn't escape from the gas and the bubble Division 3 trapped him in. He feels like he did in Clockworks, bleak and helpless, and he hates it. 

He can't stay in this place. He can't face whatever Division 3 has planned for him. He can't go back to being what he was for so many awful years. He doesn't care if Farouk is a snake full of false promises. If he can get David out of here, then David will have his powers back and no one will be able to control him ever again.

"Prove it," David challenges. "Get me out of here."

Farouk’s eyes light with interest. “Swear to me,” he says. “Promise me that if I free you, you will stay with me.”

Stay with Farouk? David might be sick, but he's not crazy. 

"Who cares what he wants?" the second voice says. "He lies all the time. Give him a taste of his own medicine."

"Lying won't help anything," the first voice says, annoyed.

"It sure as hell will if it gets us out of this," the second voice says. "Look, let's just get this over with. Once we have our powers back, we won't need him or anyone else."

David can't really argue against that, but he doesn't like outright lying. Farouk might not have any morals but David does. "I promise to stay with you until I change my mind," he says, firmly.

Farouk smiles. “Then prove it to me. That is what you are asking for, no? Proof of my love.” He leans in. “Show me the same thing, and I will take you away from here.”

"Proof?" David asks, warily. "I agreed to cooperate, what more do you want?"

“Kiss me,” Farouk says, meeting David’s eyes. 

David stares at him. "You can't be serious."

“This is America, my dear,” Farouk says, leering. “Everything has a price. It’s not so much to ask, is it?” His voice drops down, becomes soft. Intimate. “Come now. I won’t hurt you.”

David is sure that kissing Farouk is about as safe as stepping on a bear trap. 

"What an asshole," the second voice complains. "We are so gonna turn him to dust when we're free."

"What we should do is find a real doctor who can actually help you and not just drug you into submission," the first voice says, sounding resigned. "I told you to run in the courtroom. If you'd just listened to me, we wouldn't be in this mess."

"It wasn't my fault!" David hisses under his breath, then realizes he said that aloud. Shit. 

“You don’t have to hide, my dear,” Farouk says. “I can hear them too. The voices in your head.” He smiles. “They kept me company for a long time. But, I think, they are distracting you now.” 

The two voices slowly retreat, as if Farouk is turning down a volume dial. David grabs at his head, alarmed. "What did you do to me?"

“I simply gave us some privacy,” Farouk says. “You don’t mind, do you? After all, you always did want to have your head to yourself.” 

David doesn't even know what the voices are. One day they were just there. And maybe— It was a relief to have something in his head. All that quiet was— Strange. Unsettling. He didn't know what to do with it.

He realizes, belatedly, that if Farouk heard the voices all this time— It's no wonder Farouk's demanding such ridiculous proof. He's playing with him like he always has. "This is all a big game to you," he says, annoyed.

Farouk smiles at him, and for a moment, there’s a wry edge to it, peeking through Farouk’s polished facade. “Isn’t everything?” he asks. 

Nothing has ever felt like a game to David, except maybe the game of trying to pretend he's healthy enough for the doctors to let him go. And he's obviously never been any good at that or he wouldn't be where he is now. "No," he says. And if it's not a game, that makes it all the more urgent that he gets out of here. It doesn't matter that Farouk is playing with him, that he's the reason David's in this position in the first place, that he's the one who ruined David's entire life. If David can use him now to finally claw back whatever's left of his life and sanity, then that's what he has to do.

He stands up and braces himself. He walks up to Farouk, but can't bring himself to take the last step, no matter how desperate he is.

Farouk reaches out to cup David’s cheek, and his touch is gentle, as if David is something precious and fragile that he might break. “Don’t be afraid, my dear.  _ Je t’aime.”  _

David pulls away from Farouk's touch. Farouk doesn't love him, he never loved him. But David loved Syd and she loved him, and none of that mattered in the end. Syd was half right: love won't save them. But there's no love to save now, there's only survival. And if there's one thing David refuses to do after all of this, it's to lay down and die. He won't give them the satisfaction.

He grabs Farouk by the neck and kisses him, once, roughly, and then squeezes his neck as if to strangle him. He lets go just as roughly and steps back, arms wrapped around himself.

Farouk moves as if to pull him back, and then stops himself. He frowns, unsatisfied. He doesn’t want this. He wants David to  _ love  _ him. Everything he’s ever wanted has been his, effortlessly, except for  _ this,  _ and he doesn’t understand why this should be so difficult. David is  _ his.  _ Why can’t he see that? 

  
Instead, he asks, “Are you all right, my dear?” He knows what he wants the answer to be. 

"No," David says, honestly. "But you got what you wanted. So now it's your turn to give me what I want. Get me out of here."

“I told you, my dear. I always pay my debts,” Farouk lies. He steps closer and holds out a hand. “Come here, and let me take you away.” It’s a significant change to his plans— but it’s worth it, he thinks. 

David still feels like he's making a huge mistake, but he can't stay here. He forces himself to take Farouk's hand. Farouk reels him in and pulls him against himself, both arms around David, close and smothering. And then, before David can shove him away, the world around them twists sickeningly, and the cell vanishes, giving way to blue skies above and golden sand below. 

They’re on a beach— not alone, but none of the other passers-by give them a second look, hidden from their view by Farouk’s power. 

“There,” Farouk says, happily. “Beautiful, isn’t it? I missed this place . . . ahh, it’s been so long.” 

David gasps in relief. He's overcome by the warmth of the sun on his skin, by the sudden return to the living, breathing world. He barely even cares that Farouk is still holding him, the absence of dread is so profound. But then he realizes that even detached from its power source in the cell, the crown is somehow still working. He still can't use his powers. He wrenches himself free and stumbles back, turning on Farouk. "Get this thing off me."

“Ahhh,” Farouk says, his smile growing. “That wasn’t part of our deal. But you’re free now.” He leans in closer, his eyes bright. “Isn’t this what you always wanted, my dear? To be ‘normal’? Well, now you have it. No powers . . . no voices . . . you should be thanking me.”

Maybe David would have been grateful for that once. But that was before he knew how much had been stolen from him. "I'll get it off myself," he says, even though he tried in the cell and got nowhere. He grabs at the metal and tries to pull it free. It hurts, but he doesn't let that stop him. 

_ “Nein!”  _ Farouk snaps, urgent, and his hands are on David’s. “Stop, you’ll hurt yourself.”

"What do you care?" David asks, angrily. "You tortured me for thirty years! What do you care if ripping this thing off kills me?"

Farouk’s eyes are cold, and the aura of danger surrounding him is palpable. His hands are clenched around David’s, forcing them down, away from the crown. “You’re  _ mine,  _ joonam, and I won’t let you damage what belongs to me.” He steps closer, his eyes on David’s, as if he desperately wants David to understand what he’s saying. “You’re part of me. We’re the same. I’ll make you understand that.”

"How?" David asks, challenging. "You'll brainwash me, like you did Syd? I'm not your baby, I'm your  _ victim _ ."

“What matters, my dear,” Farouk says, “Is that you’re  _ mine.”  _ He studies David’s eyes for a moment, and seems to pull himself together, the facade back in place. “I don’t want you to hurt yourself,  _ joonam.  _ I am not your enemy.”

David can't believe this is happening to him. He can't cope with any of this, with Farouk's games and all the nonsense he keeps saying. None of it makes any sense to him at all. "You know what?" he tells Farouk, fed up. "We're done. I paid your price. Now leave me alone." And before Farouk can respond to that with more nonsense and pet names, David turns and marches away from him. 

For whatever reason, Farouk lets him go. Once he reaches the street, David finally starts paying attention to his surroundings and realizes that he has no idea where he is. He checks his pockets, but of course they're empty. He curses, but he's not surprised. He hasn't had anything of his own for years, not since he was committed. He has no money, no friends, nowhere to go. He doesn't speak whatever language these people are speaking. He spent six years in a mental hospital, drugged senseless, and then lost a year to an orb, and the rest of the time he was just— Trying to survive whatever was happening to him. What Farouk was doing to him.

He walks through the streets, struggling for what to do next. If he had his powers back, he would be fine. Farouk's out of his head now, even if he's not gone. David could go wherever he wanted, get whatever he wanted, even if that was just— A farm in the middle of nowhere. Maybe he could do that here. Go into the woods, raise some chickens. Chickens would never tell him he's sick and going to end the world.

God, he's not still going to end the world, is he? Division 3 must think so, and that means they're going to come after him. Escaping might have kept him alive, but it made him a fugitive, a powerless, penniless fugitive. He has to hide. Division 3 hunted Farouk all over the globe, they're never going to stop until they find David. And they're not going to bother with the drugs now, with the pretense of helping him, they're just going to execute him. That's all they ever wanted in the first place, David heard Clark thinking it. 

He can never go home. Not that he even has a home anymore, or a family or friends or— He has nothing,  _ nothing _ , and the enormity of that hits him, makes his knees weak. He stumbles into the nearest alley and slides down against the wall, trying to breathe himself calm.

Farouk approaches him slowly, as one approaches any frightened animal. He leans against the wall, a metre or so away, careful to give David the distance he craves. 

“I won’t let them hurt you,” he says, eventually. “Whatever you choose, you will be safe here with me.”

David wishes that didn't make him feel a tiny bit better. There's nothing safe about Farouk. But there's nothing safe about anything. Farouk took everything away from him, he took Amy and Lenny and Syd and Summerland and the voices and even his powers. Without all of that— David has nothing. He’s worthless to the world the way he always has been. A sick, powerless, homeless human— And David knows exactly how the world treats people like that. Lenny— No, Benny. Benny used to laugh at people like that, even though the two of them were only a step away from that life themselves. And now here he is.

"And if I stay with you?" David asks, bleakly. "Then what?" He can't see Farouk having any use for him without his powers. All Farouk cares about is power, he said it, even if he was Lenny when he said it. David must be worthless to him, too.

Farouk frowns. The thoughts running through David’s mind prick at something in him, something weak and vulnerable that still remembers being an impoverished child in a war-torn country. He doesn’t like to be reminded of that child. “We are more than that,” he tells David, responding not to his words but to his thoughts. “You and I. The world is a dream and we are real.” He half turns away from David, so that he can gesture down the alleyway to the street beyond, where people are rushing past. “They are nothing but our shadows. It doesn’t matter what they would think of you.”

David can't express how much he feels like the truth is the opposite of that. He's the shadow. He's only ever been what other people think of him, diagnose him with, classify him as. In Summerland, when he finally understood he had powers, that he could use them, that he was more than just sick—

<em>You're both</em> rings through his head, Syd's words at that sham of a trial, when she turned on him for a second time.

He knows Farouk is the only reason the crown is working, why David can't get it off. Farouk's still getting his revenge. That's all David is to him, a way to enact revenge against the father David never knew and probably never will.

"Is my father still alive?" he asks, distantly curious.

The question startles Farouk. “I don’t know,” he says, after a moment. “If he is, he isn’t easily found— but then again, I didn’t look too hard.” He shakes his head, disgusted. “He always did like to run away from his problems. You deserved better, my dear.”

"If he was dead, would you leave me alone?" David asks, and the question feels— Strangely testing.

“Hah,” Farouk says, dismissive.  _ “Nein.”  _ He meets David’s eyes. “I told you, my dear— I won’t abandon you. Not like him.”

Nothing about that should make David feel better. All Farouk has ever done is hurt him. But David's used to pain, his whole life has been pain. Maybe there's something— Not better, but— More tolerable, if he— Stops fighting it. If it's what he's going to get no matter what he does. If he feels hollowed-out, gutted, if he doesn't belong anywhere, to anyone— 

He starts crying, finally, the despair cresting in him. He lets the tears fall and tastes the salt of them. He hopes Lenny's okay. He promised he'd save her, and now he can't even save himself.

Farouk steps forward and pulls him into his arms, murmuring comforting nonsense in Persian. He presses his mind against David’s, and even he isn’t sure if he’s trying to offer David a kind of psychic support, or if he’s simply feeding off David’s misery like he always did before.

He hopes, vaguely, that it’s the former.

“It’s all right,” he says. “I won’t hurt you, my dear. You belong to me.” He strokes David’s back and shuts his eyes, revelling in the warmth of David’s familiar body. “We’re part of the same whole, you see. It hurts to be seperate. That’s all this is. You’ll be  _ safe  _ with me.” He turns to kiss David’s cheek, lightly. “Only I can love you the way you deserve to be loved.” 

David needs too much to refuse the comfort, even though he's repulsed by it. This man, this thing that's tortured him and hurt him so much— Farouk doesn't know what love is. He can't. But David doesn't know what love is anymore either. Is it Amy, who loved him so much she locked him away? Is it Syd, who did the same? Farouk wants to lock him away too, in his own way. Maybe love will always be that. But he needs it anyway, he feels— Empty without it. His heart has been shattered since Amy, since the desert, the shards of it ripping him apart from the inside and he's bleeding out. 

He doesn't care if Farouk's promises are lies. One of the voices kept saying that David was deluded, that he didn't deserve love. But if love is torture— Maybe it all makes sense after all. Maybe it's exactly what he deserves.

"Okay," he says, numbly, surrendering himself to— God knows what. Maybe something worse than the bleak fates he already sees for himself. But he'll take anything to dull the pain of being so utterly, completely alone. 

Farouk holds David tightly, as if he can fill up the emptiness inside of David, and it’s not  _ enough,  _ and it frustrates him. Instead, he floods David’s mind with artificial warmth, trying to show him—  _ see, this is how I can make you feel.  _

David shudders in relief as something dulls the agony that was consuming him. It's not natural, he knows that. It's like the drugs Benny gave him, it's like the Vapor, carrying him up. But he welcomed that feeling then and he's grateful for it now. He slumps in Farouk's hold, exhausted in the wake of everything. He turns against him, burying his face against Farouk's suit, letting Farouk give him what he needs to survive. 

Farouk runs his hand down David’s back. “We are the same even in this, then. That is the cruelty of it, isn’t it?” He laughs, quietly, to himself. There’s an unhappy edge to it. “You can do everything but make her love you.”

"Don't talk about her," David warns, tiredly. It hurts too much, it reminds him of all the reasons why this is a terrible idea. Why if he had any sense, he would just turn himself in and let Division 3 do what they want with him. But the one thing Farouk has been genuinely honest about is not wanting to kill him. Even if it's just to keep him alive to continue satisfying his thirst for revenge— David doesn't want to die. 

“Good,” Farouk says, his arms tightening. “I won’t let you die, my dear. You are too important to me.” He’s aware, as he says it, that he is both telling the truth and saying whatever he knows David wants to hear. “I can take away the memories, like I did before. Would you like that?”

For just a moment, David is tempted to accept the offer. To give up all that heartbreak and betrayal— It would be such a relief. But he's lost too much of himself already. He can't let Farouk take that, too. "No," he says, roughly. "Just— Take me somewhere. Anywhere. Away from— Everything."

“Yes,” Farouk says, because it’s what he wants too. 

  
  



	2. Everything tastes so different on a different tongue.

The hotel is vast, grand, elegant. Farouk’s kind of place. He doesn’t pay the staff— they act as if they recognize him when he asks for a room for two, and they don’t ask for money. Another benefit of telepathy.

Farouk leads David into the hotel suite. David looks around the vast space, unsettled by its excess. It’s larger than David’s old apartment, with multiple rooms, and a single bed, large enough to fit three or four people easily. 

“Food will be coming soon,” Farouk tells David, watching carefully for his reaction. After all, this is all a performance. 

David nods, but barely cares. He's distantly aware of his hunger, his mental and physical exhaustion, but he's almost feverish with anxious energy. The large space at least gives him room to move, so he wanders, trying to think but unable to. 

Farouk approaches him, slowly, and rests a hand gently on David's shoulder. “Look at me,” he says, softly. “You’re safe. They can’t reach you here.  _ Relax,  _ my dear. Let yourself rest. You deserve it.”

David steps away from Farouk, rubs at his face, breathes. Then he steps back to him. "What do we do now?" he asks, hearing the fear in his voice.

“Anything we want,” Farouk says. “The world is our oyster,  _ joonam.”  _ He takes another look at David, and then softens his voice. “Rest, my dear. Eat, talk, recuperate. We’ve had a long day, haven’t we?”

"Yeah," David admits. Obviously they're safe, Farouk was powerful enough to stay ahead of Division 3 even before he got his body back. And now— What was it the Vermillion said? He's unstoppable. Not that that should be reassuring, but— It is, somehow. Farouk seems oddly determined to take care of him. 

Unstoppable. The word sticks in his mind. He looks at Farouk and it hits him that this is really Farouk's physical, actual body in front of him. The body he tried very hard to kill. But there's no sign of the battering David gave him.

"Did you— Heal yourself?" David asks, curious.

“Yes,” Farouk says. He tilts his head. “Why? Would you have prefered to see what you did to me? To  _ mark  _ me?” There’s a suggestive tone to his voice. 

_ Yes, _ David thinks. "No, I just— Wondered." He looks Farouk up and down, not sure where his mind is going but following it anyway. "Is it strange? Being— You again?"

Farouk hesitates, and for a moment, he looks almost— vulnerable. “Thirty years is a very long time,” he says, eventually. He reaches out, and runs a finger down David’s face. “I remember what it was like to look out of those eyes,” he says. “It is an— adjustment.” 

He doesn’t say that he feels unmoored and out of place, longing to be back in David’s body at the same time as he’s relieved to be free of it. He doesn’t talk about the vague sense that he is, that he’s  _ not  _ himself again. That he’s someone else— that he’s changed, somehow, or that he was never really the way that he remembers himself.

He doesn’t talk about the fear that he was never really Amahl Farouk— that he is nothing but David’s delusion. 

“Do you still miss it?” he asks, instead. “Being in her body— your beloved?”

The question hits David like a blow to the gut. He steps back, wounded. "I told you not to talk about her," he says, throat immediately tight with grief and anger. "You know what? This was a bad idea, all of this."

“Wait,” Farouk says, taking a step forward. His eyes are desperate. “You understand, don’t you? That’s how I feel. For you.” He  _ needs  _ David to understand. As long as David understands, then maybe it will all have been worth it. 

"Do you actually expect me to believe that?" David asks. "If you love me, why did you torture me? All the things you did to me, to the people I— Why?" He needs a reason. All he knows is that Farouk wanted revenge on the father David never even knew. 

Farouk hesitates. “What would you have done?” he asks David. “Disembodied, unmoored, caught between life and death— what would you have done?”

"Not taken over a defenseless baby," David says, angrily. He walks away and over to the large window in the sitting area. He remembers standing by the window in Clockworks and watching the city, wondering if he'd ever be free. The answer seems to be no, and he doesn't know what to do with that.

“I chose to live,” Farouk insists. He takes a deep breath and walks up behind David, slowly. After a moment, he says, “At first, I hated you. Your father was gone, and I was trapped in a dark cell, and only you stood between me and the only light. Only by breaking you could I have freedom. Can you imagine what it’s like, to be taken away from everything you know and love, and become nothing but a nightmare in another man’s mind? Everything I did, everything I learned, everything I cared about— none of it mattered. I was nothing but the monster under your bed. The only thing I could control was you, and so I— did.” He takes a step closer. “And then I fell in love. How could I not? You were the world, and I was alone.”

David feels a small pang of empathy, but he resists it. "So what happened to the south of France?" he retorts. "Women, money, power?"

Farouk spreads his hands. “Where do you think we are?” he asks. “That hasn’t changed. But I want you here with me. Is that so wrong?” His voice drops, softens. “We don’t have to be alone. Either of us.”

David gives a wary look at Farouk's reflection in the window. This whole story Farouk's telling him— It doesn't feel like the truth. Maybe Farouk really believes it, maybe he doesn't. Maybe all this is just another trick in a lifetime of tricks. But David is tired of fighting, tired of everything. 

“Truth,” Farouk reminds David, “is a choice.”

There's a knock on the door, saving him. Farouk goes to answer it, and it's their food being delivered. It smells delicious, and David's stomach reminds him how empty it is. He hasn't eaten since he woke up in the cell. He couldn't stomach anything in that place. But he's not a prisoner anymore. Or if he is, his new cell is an opulent one.

The waiter lays out the food on a small table for two: four dishes, two glasses, and a bottle of wine. He bows, wishes them a good night, and departs. 

Farouk wastes no time in pouring each of them a glass of red wine. “I ordered a few options,” he says, graciously. “I don’t believe you’ve ever had French cuisine?”

"Like you need to ask," David says, grumpily. Farouk lived inside him his whole life, he knows everything David's forgotten. "Maybe I have had it and you made me forget."

Farouk chuckles. “Why would I do that? Food, my dear, is the closest thing to sacred in this world— to my mind. Here. Have some of the steak.” He cuts off a portion and serves it onto David’s plate. 

Accepting anything from Farouk still feels like a mistake, but David supposes a little food can't make anything worse. And he's absolutely starving. He cuts off a piece and shoves it in his mouth and the flavor explodes on his tongue. "This is amazing," he says, mouth full and reaching for another piece.

Farouk smiles, delighted. “I knew you’d like it,” he says, serving himself some of the same. “The French, I think, have perfected the art of cooking.”

David tries to force himself to slow down so he can enjoy how amazing the steak is, but he's honestly too hungry. He serves himself from the other plates and digs in, scarfing everything down the way he does a stack of waffles. 

Farouk eats with him, seeming equally ravenous— but his eyes are on David, and the hunger there doesn’t have anything to do with food. He savours each bite. “It’s strange, my dear, how everything tastes so different on a different tongue,” he comments. 

Curiosity — and satiation — slow David's eating. "What do you mean?"

“Sensation is not merely a property of the mind,” Farouk explains readily, “But of the body. Colors are different. Food tastes sweeter. Even touch is . . . altered.” 

David remembers when he let Farouk in, thinking he was Lenny. He remembers how Farouk taught him to control his powers, to control the signals of perception. "You said it was all just signals, electricity in the brain."

“Yes,” Farouk agrees. “But different signals come from different— ah, what’s the word?  _ Fen awvari _ . Hardware.” 

"I guess you care a lot more about bodies now that you have one?" David says, with just a little bitterness.

“I had one before,” Farouk points out, taking a sip of his wine. “But it is— different. Being in my own skin.” He stares into the depths of his wine glass. “Can you feel it?” he asks, looking up. “The sense of— distance. Disruption. The wrongness of being apart from each other.”

David takes a sip of his own wine, and then a gulp. That's something he's tried not to think about, the way he's had— Not a missing limb, but maybe— A missing organ. Something inside him that was always there, that he thought was a natural part of him until suddenly it wasn't anymore. "We'll get used to it," he says, looking away.

“I don’t want to,” Farouk says, softly. 

"I do," David says, stubbornly, even though— It hurts, somehow, like those missing limbs hurt. He thought it would stop, that he would heal; he thought Syd would fill that space for him. He was wrong. The only thing that made him feel even a little bit better was meeting with Farouk on the astral plane, even though those meetings left him angry and confused. He's angry and confused now, and sitting this close— He can feel the pull no matter how hard he tries to ignore it.

Farouk smiles at him, and there’s a sad edge to it. “I thought I would feel whole again when I returned to my body— my real body. And yet— I don’t.”

"You were inside me for thirty years," David points out. "You—" We. "Probably just need to give it time."

“Why bother?” Farouk asks. “When we have the solution right at our fingertips?”

"What, you want to go back inside me?" David asks, warily.

Hunger flashes across Farouk’s face for a second, before he can shove it away. Slowly, as if he’s trying to convince himself, he shakes his head.  _ “Nein.  _ It is better, is it not, to be seperate? To be free? But simply because we’re no longer sharing a body doesn’t mean we can’t be  _ together.”  _ The word comes out too intense, too desperate, for the sentence surrounding it. 

David isn't always the most observant person, but Farouk has hardly been subtle. He might not understand why Farouk wants him, but it's clear that he does. Maybe he just feels the same craving David does, the same emptiness that needs to be filled. Though it would have to be different, for him. Does the missing limb have a phantom body?

David glances around them. It feels less like all of this is from the simple need to impress, to have the best. Is all this Farouk's way of— Courting him? Seducing him?

David doesn't know how to feel about that, how to react. He's nothing but raw, open wounds from all the things Farouk has done to him. He was a prisoner of Division 3, and the crown on his head means now he's Farouk's prisoner. He shouldn't seek solace in his captor, his torturer, in the man who's taken everything from him. 

But when has he ever done anything he should do? When has his life ever been clean and easy?

“It’s all right, my dear,” Farouk says. He’s watching David, and his eyes are full of sympathy— or a reasonable facsimile thereof, at least. “I won’t hurt you. I saved you from your enemies, didn’t I? And now you’re safe, and fed, and warm. Haven’t I been good to you today?”

As if one day could possibly make up for thirty years? David finishes his wine and stands, takes some restless steps around the room. What Farouk's offering— It would be a mistake to take it, like it was a mistake to accept his food and his shelter and his comfort and his protection. Nothing good could possibly come of it. But he doesn't know what else to do. Run away? Try to find someone to get the crown off? His captor is immortal, omniscient, unstoppable. He would only let David go as far as he wanted to let him go. Nothing's changed from when Farouk was inside of him. He's still in charge of David's existence.

Farouk comes up behind him, glass in hand. “I have no intention of forcing your hand,” he says. “The choice is yours, my dear. I only want what is best for you.”

David looks out the window again. He should leave, he should walk away, or at least try to. But when he thinks about doing that, the empty space inside him hurts. 

"Did you do something to me, before you left?" David asks. "To make me come back to you?"

“No,” Farouk says, shaking his head. “But how could it not have changed us? All those years, mind and body intertwined . . .” He hesitates, for a second, and then says, “I miss it. That sense of— familiarity. Intimacy.”

Then why did you leave? David thinks, and feels ridiculous for thinking it. Why did Farouk have to hurt him so much they had to take him out? If Farouk loved him, if he was part of him— 

There was a moment, weeks ago, a year ago, when they came together. When they weren't fighting each other. And it feels now like that was the one moment in his life when nothing hurt.

Farouk puts a hand on David’s shoulder. “I didn’t leave,” he reminds him. “You left me.  _ Alles ist gut, mein Liebe.  _ It’s not too late to come back.”

David feels the same solace at Farouk's touch as he did before, and this time he doesn't feel Farouk doing anything to make it happen. Without the shield of his anger, with no immediate threat to defend himself from— He can't find the strength to push Farouk away, to deny himself that solace, to make the aching emptiness inside him sharpen instead of dull.

Farouk pulls David into his arms again, his mind brushing up against David’s— not seeking to control, this time, but simply to  _ feel,  _ to experience that closeness again. David whimpers in his arms, body tensing and relaxing. Out of his tangled and discordant thoughts, a clear tone is emerging, a plait of want and need and yearning smoothed and braided by Farouk's words, by everything David has been denying himself.

"I can't—" David tries, but there's nothing in him to finish that. 

“It’s all right,” Farouk repeats. “It’s all right, my dear. I know what you want. You deserve this, don’t you?” He presses his lips against David’s, lightly. “You deserve to be loved.”

Tears well in David's eyes. He blinks and they streak down his cheeks. It shouldn't be Farouk who understands him, who offers him love and acceptance. It should have been Syd. But Syd doesn't love him anymore. Farouk took that away and then David— 

More tears fall. He did something monstrous to her, he didn't mean to but it happened, and now— He's in the arms of another monster.

Farouk kisses David’s cheek. “We both deserve forgiveness,” he says. His thoughts wrap around David’s— not changing anything, not controlling, simply sharing in his pain. “Don’t we? We are not doomed to be monsters.” 

David's never been able to forgive himself for hurting others before, he doesn't see how he can start now. "We are," he says, and if there's nothing in him to save— Then there's no reason for him to fight anymore. He kisses Farouk back, and the action feels both strangely familiar and entirely new.

“We are more than you give us credit for,  _ joonam,” _ Farouk says, softly. “We can be more. Together.” His eyes are shut, leaning into David’s embrace.

"No," David says, softly. He doesn't want to hope anymore. For years all he did was hope. He imagined he was a good person who deserved to be loved. It's only now that he sees how wrong all of that was. He can't miss Farouk, he can't crave the closeness of him, he can't be willingly standing here in his arms, the ghost of a kiss on his lips, and think there's any reason to hope.

Farouk holds him tightly. He never wants to let go. David is here and that should be enough, that  _ has  _ to be enough. He pushes his thoughts against David’s, letting David feel Farouk’s own delight at having David here, his certainty that this must be right. David doesn't resist. He welcomes Farouk in the way he did once before, willingly giving himself up to Farouk's influence, his guidance. 

“Tell me what you want,” Farouk prompts, turning his head so that his lips are brushing against David’s ear. “Tell me what you need.”

"Make me forget," David pleads, thinking of Farouk's earlier offers. "Not— Don't erase anything, but— I don't want to think about— Anything."

“All right,” Farouk says. He considers David's desperation, the emotional suffering that weighs upon his soul. It will be his pleasure to lift it away.

He puts a hand on David's back and guides him to the bed, sits him down. He stands in front of David, looking down on that unhappy, pleading face. He's taken such pleasure in David's tears but neglected the rest of him. Being apart helped him see what he was missing, and now he has a second chance at the feast.

"My beautiful boy," Farouk purrs, caressing David's cheek. He sees a spark of hesitation in David's eyes, and that's when he strikes. Farouk leans down, David's face in his hands, and kisses him. His mind floods David’s, overcoming him with Farouk’s emotions, Farouk’s desperation, Farouk’s  _ love.  _

David whimpers with pain as a rush of alien feelings invades him, pushing aside everything before them. But as a new awareness settles in him, he gasps in relief: the aching absence is barely there at all. He feels almost whole again, and for the first time since all this madness started, he feels— Genuine gratitude for Farouk's existence, for his presence, his closeness. "Yes," he sighs, tears leaking from his eyes.

Farouk guides David down to lie on the bed together, and lets them rest there for a moment, revelling in their closeness. “You’re perfect, my dear,” he murmurs, kissing the back of David’s head. “Perfect for me.”

David wallows in the feeling of being held: physically, psychically. Why did he even want to leave? This is what he's been missing, this is— He feels Farouk's desire for him, the yearning to unite doubled, pulling them together. He understands now what Farouk meant about being together. The physical desire, yes, but more than that— The need to strip away all the barriers between them.

“Yes, that’s right,” Farouk says, running one hand flat down David’s chest. “We are whole together. Doesn’t it feel good?” His voice drops, becomes deeper, more suggestive. “Let me make you feel good.”

"Please," David sighs, wanting more, wanting everything Farouk wants, swamped by Farouk's desire. They did this before, this mental fusion, but David didn't understand then, he was afraid of what he thought was something new and invasive. But now it feels like coming home.

Farouk takes it slow. He sees no reason to rush, not when the two of them are safe and warm and  _ together  _ for the first time in so long. He slips a hand under David’s shirt, lazily exploring familiar skin. It’s strange and beautiful, to feel him from the outside in. “Ahh, look at you,” he says softly, pressing his lips to David’s neck. “I’ve waited so long, my dear.”

David doesn't know if what he feels is attraction in any normal sense, but he yearns to be closer, for there to be nothing between them, nothing in the way of— Union, of any kind. As Farouk caresses him, David feels a corresponding sense of satisfaction, of reclaiming, rich with greed. It makes him feel like something stolen and found again, like he doesn't belong to himself at all. 

He's aware that Farouk's thoughts are becoming— Indistinguishable from his own. That's how it was before. He resisted so much, frightened of losing himself entirely. But now that's what he craves.

“I know,” Farouk says. Now his other hand is working at the clasp on David’s pants, slipping inside to touch him. “You don’t want to be in control. You want to be protected. Guided.  _ Safe.”  _ He kisses David’s cheek. “I can be that for you. I can be  _ yours.”  _

David gasps as Farouk's hand takes hold of his cock. He feels Farouk's erection against him, full and wanting, apparent even through their clothes. He rests one hand over the hand on his chest, anchoring himself as he feels Farouk's psychic arousal becoming his own. It's dizzying, a strange feedback loop where he's the conduit. 

Farouk strokes him, slowly, gently. He doesn’t need to do much— the real show is in their mind, his thoughts tangling around David’s and heightening the sensations, sending sparks of excitement through David’s body. He doesn't overtake David entirely — where would the fun be in that? But he weaves them back together strand by strand, slotting himself into all the spaces that fit him so perfectly, that made themselves for him. David is his, as he has always been. It's gratifying to finally have David recognize and accept that truth.

"Amahl," David moans, suddenly feeling— To call him Farouk isn't right. It's not what he wants, and David should give him what he wants. He turns in Amahl's embrace, needing to see his face, his eyes. Needing to see the satisfaction that he feels inside him.

Farouk shudders, and kisses David urgently. It’s so good to hear David say his name. “Tell me,” he demands, running his hands down David’s chest. “Tell me what you feel.” 

David grapples with the powerful feelings inside him, familiar and new all at once. He feels Amahl's hands holding him, his body against him, hot and eager. Their legs entwine as their bodies rub and press, and David wants and wants. David kisses Amahl hungrily, feeling— Adoration, devotion. All the pain, the guilt and self-loathing— It's fading away, irrelevant. It wasn't his, it was only the absence hurting him, it was the pain of a phantom limb. And now they're whole again, that terrible break knitting back together.

"I feel you," David murmurs, drawn into the possession of Amahl's gaze, his grip, his mind. "I feel—" A warmth swells in his heart. "I love you," he realizes, and it's like the warmth of the sun spreading through him.

Amahl kisses him back, desperately, his hands wandering David’s body. He pushes David’s pants down and away, smoothing his other hand up David’s rear onto the small of his back. “You’re perfect, my dear,” he whispers. “Perfect when you’re mine. You won’t leave me again, will you?”

"I can't," David says, knowing the truth of it as he says it. "I won't," he promises anyway, feeling how much Amahl needs him to say it. Amahl missed him so much. David was gone for a whole year and Amahl couldn't find him. Of course he was angry, of course he had to— Punish David for leaving. But he took his punishment like a good boy, and now he's earned his reward.

“Yes,” Amahl agrees, his hand returning to David’s cock. “I know you want to be a good boy for me.” He presses his lips to David’s neck. “Only for me.  _ Je t’aime, mon cher.” _

David moans at the sensation of Amahl's mouth against his neck, tasting and nipping over the long, faint scar, over his fluttering pulse. He clings to Amahl's suit, aroused by the feeling of his own bare skin against it, but wanting to pull away the layers of fabric. "Amahl," he moans, and then again. " _ Amahl _ ."

Amahl pulls at David’s shirt, helping him take it off. Now David is bare, revealed to Amahl’s hungry eyes, and Amahl is still clothed. Covered.  _ Protected.  _

He pushes David back onto the bed and straddles him, admiring his handiwork. “So beautiful,  _ joonam,”  _ he says. “Show me how much you want me.”

David arches under Amahl, feeling utterly vulnerable, feeling the rightness of this. Of Amahl above him, in control, and David's submission. This is how they belong together, he feels that now, the knowledge old and certain. And he feels Amahl's approval of his knowledge, like an adoring caress to his very soul. Amahl is so deep inside him, and they've barely touched.

"Tell me how to please you," David begs, sweetly, his eyes lidded with need, his body flushed and aching for touch. He wants to give Amahl everything, even though it's too late to stop him. Some last corner of self-awareness screams at him that it's too late to stop him, but David only feels glad. He feels how very glad Amahl is about all of that.

A shiver runs through Amahl’s body. David is better than he ever could have dreamed. A world full of opportunities spreads out before him, and he takes a moment to decide— and then takes David’s hand in his, and guides it between David’s legs. “Touch yourself for me,” he says, kissing David’s mouth. 

David kisses hungrily at Amahl's mouth, chasing after it as Amahl rises up above him again, ready to watch. David feels lightheaded with need, all the blood rushing away from his head, like even his cells are eager to serve. Maybe they are. Amahl lived inside him his whole life, dominated his body until it was  _ their _ body. It's no wonder that David felt so wrong without him, ripped in two.

Without looking away from Amahl's ravenous gaze, David grips his cock and strokes it. A wave of arousal feeds into him and he moans and squeezes at his shaft, breathless. Amahl runs his fingers through David’s short hair. He’s burning with arousal, and he hasn’t even been touched. He catches himself thinking: Why bother? This isn’t really his body. David’s body is  _ his,  _ not this shell he’s wearing now.

He doesn’t want to think of that right now. He lets his fingers slip down behind David, pressing for entrance into his—  _ their—  _ body— not hard enough to hurt, even with the lack of lubrication. 

David takes a sharp breath in, feeling Amahl's lust, his desire to be inside him in as many ways as he can. David can't separate Amahl's will from his own, but on some level he knows this is new for him, that he's never— Fear makes him resist, to close tight against the tips of Amahl's fingers. But he can't take his hand from his cock, he can't stop feeling intensely aroused.

Amahl pulls back. He feels David’s discomfort, like a prickle over his own skin, and it’s hard to tell which of them is feeling it. “Sssh, shh,” he says, vaguely. “I won’t hurt you, my dear.” He kisses David again, bracing a hand next to his neck. “You trust me, don’t you?”

That last corner of self-awareness screams at David, but it's a whisper compared to the trust that resounds in his head, urging him to accept, to relax, to welcome deeper. Amahl is part of him; how could David not trust himself? "I trust you," he says, barely noticing the pang of terror it gives him.

“You deserve to feel safe, my dear,” Amahl says, and instead curls his hand around David’s own hand, where it’s working between his legs, and guides his movements. His eyes never leave David’s. He  _ needs  _ David to want this. He  _ needs  _ David to want him. David stares into Amahl's eyes, entranced and forced willingly open. Amahl rewards him with sweet touches to the head of his cock, swollen and sensitive. He draws little gasps from David, playing him like an instrument while never letting go of his gaze.

Amahl can’t resist his own desires anymore, and he fumbles with the fastenings on his slacks, pulling out his own cock, and shifting so that he’s lying next to David. It’s an awkward position, but he’s too lost to care; he just wants to feel David’s familiar skin against his. He pulls David up to lie on his side, Amahl’s front pressed against David’s back, and curls around him, his hand going back to David’s cock. He rubs himself against David’s back, muttering soothing nonsense in Farsi. 

The pull to unite grows overpowering in David, so strong that it makes the last emptiness inside him flare with pain. He needs Amahl inside him, and if Amahl won't leave this shell he's in, David will get him back another way. He turns and climbs onto Amahl, straddling him, Amahl's cock hard and hot against his balls. He grabs Amahl's hand and guides it back.

"Please," he begs, desperate with need that he's vaguely aware isn't his own. "I need you inside me."

Amahl shudders again. He, too, is aware on some level that this isn’t how David really feels— but he needs to hear it so badly, he tells himself it’s real. David loves him. David is part of him.  _ “Bien sûr,” _ he says, pressing his fingers into David’s hole. “Together.  _ Together.”  _

" _ Yes _ ," David gasps, sheer need making him push back against Amahl's hand. He feels consumed with a desire so physical it transcends his body. If he doesn't unite with Amahl soon, he doesn't think he'll even  _ survive _ .

Amahl feels the same need, and he tries to satisfy it by joining their minds together, blurring the lines between them even more. He doesn’t bother to hide his own thoughts, not now. 

He’s vaguely aware that something else is needed, and he uses his powers to get it, twisting reality to teleport a small, plastic bottle through space into his hand.  _ “Hier— hier, mein Liebe— ”  _ He pulls his other hand back and slicks it— then hesitates, a thought crossing his mind. “I could hurt you,” he tells David, nipping at the other man’s lips. “I could make you cry for me. Would you like that?” 

A strong urge in David wants to say yes, but some lingering sense of self-preservation stops him. He shakes his head, strangely ashamed. He should want to give Amahl everything, including his pain, and yet— Something in him refuses. "No," he says, softly, pleading for Amahl to understand, even though David can't.

David’s shame is cold and foreign in Amahl’s head. “Stop that,” he orders, sending a wave of numbing peace into David’s mind, trying to block out the shame— but he doesn’t question David’s choice, instead continuing with his original plan. His slick fingers press back into David’s body, experienced and familiar. David is unresisting, any shame or fear taken away from him, along with the awareness that such an act should be something upsetting in itself. There can be no violation in wholeness, no shame or regret. Amahl chooses to give David joy as easily as he chose to give him fear.

“I love you,” Amahl insists, and he isn’t sure if he’s trying to convince David or himself. He kisses David again as his fingers explore inside, stretching David, opening him up for Amahl’s pleasure. 

The feeling of Amahl inside of David begins to calm his driving need. Their body welcomes him back, even in this small way. It feels good, of course, but it's more than pleasure. It feels right, and David savors the feeling, cherishes it. He shifts his position to let Amahl in deeper, where he belongs. "I love you," he sighs.

“You’re mine,” Amahl tells David.  _ “Mine.  _ Only I deserve to touch you like this. Only I can take care of you.” He pulls his fingers out, making certain the opening is slick, and tugs David’s hips up, David’s cock flush with his belly, so that he can get himself into position. 

"Then take what's yours," David rumbles, impatient.

Amahl laughs, pleased and surprised. “I like it when you talk like that,” he tells him, taking his cock in hand and lining himself up against David’s hole. He leans up to press their lips lightly together— and then pulls David down onto his cock.                                                                                                                                                                                                                  

David gasps, the sensation of being filled both a surprise and not a surprise, both pleasure and pain. He's never been fucked before, but remembers being fucked, distant memories of a body that used to be his own. No, that's— That doesn't make sense. He shakes off the memory and focuses on Amahl beneath him, inside him, pulling him down to fill him up.

The noise that slips out of Amahl’s mouth as he presses in is obscene, and he buries his face against David’s shoulder to silence himself. He feeds his own pleasure into David’s mind, egging him on, his hands on David’s hips. “You’re— ” he gasps out. His eloquent words escape him.  “Yes—  _ perfect—  _ just like I imagined,  _ David,  _ I— ” 

Amahl presses the rest of the way inside, bottoming out, and all David can do is hold on to him. Amahl feels huge inside him, forcing him open, and it's still somehow not enough even though it's too much. Everything is blurred with pleasure, doubled over, consuming. He feels consumed and he welcomes it, hungers for more. He clenches around Amahl's cock and shifts, urging Amahl to fuck him.

Amahl obliges, rocking up into him and murmuring incomprehensibly into his ear. “So beautiful,  _ joonam,  _ so beautiful for me, so perfect when you’re mine— you were  _ made  _ for this— ” He’s never even touched David before, but every inch of his body, every sound he makes, every little movement of his hips, feels so familiar, as if Amahl has had him a hundred times. 

Their bodies move naturally together. Amahl guides David from the inside the way he has before, and it feels like they're in their body together again. David is filled with Amahl from without and within, and the more he's filled, the more he feels— Confident, powerful. Like the more he surrenders, the more he's in control. It's an intoxicating feeling, a dizzying rush, and he laughs, triumphant.

"I  _ was _ made for this," he tells Amahl, certain. " _ You made me _ ." He gasps as Amahl thrusts into him hard. "I'm  _ yours _ ." He doesn't doubt it anymore. This is how they're meant to be.

_ “Ayeh— ”  _ Farouk gasps out. He’s overwhelmed, and his voice is breaking, and at once he relishes the loss of control and hates the necessity of losing his smooth facade around David. “Mine, mine,  _ mine— mal man, mal man— ” _

David grins, laughs in delight. God, he feels so  _ good _ . He wants to make Amahl feel just as good. He kisses him, then sits back on Amahl's cock, riding it, showing Amahl just how much he wants him. "Your  _ joonam _ ," he moans. "Perfect when I'm  _ yours _ ."

_ “David— ”  _ Farouk makes an incomprehensible noise and pulls David close, sinking his teeth into David’s shoulder to muffle his cries, and comes, pulsing hot and wet inside of David. David is pulled along with him, clenching tight around Amahl's cock, shuddering and crying out as he makes a mess on Amahl's suit. David collapses against him, clinging to him, pressing sloppy kisses to the side of his neck.

Farouk falls down on the bed, curled against David’s familiar form, running his messy fingers through David’s hair. He can’t bring himself to care about the mess. David is here. David is  _ here.  _ “This is the way it was meant to be,” he mutters, resting his chin on David’s head. “You and I. Together.”

"Mm, yes," David moans, snuggling closer. He sighs in satisfaction, strokes the fine fabric of Amahl's suit. It feels good against his flushed, heated skin. Amahl's cock softens and slips out of him, but it's okay because Amahl is everywhere inside him, filling every inch of their body, their mind. They're whole together and it's more than David could have imagined. "Are we a cocktail or a sunrise?" he asks, amused at the thought.

Farouk laughs, and David feels the vibration run through their shared bodies. “We are the sun and the moon,  _ joonam,” _ he says. “The land and the sea, the night and the day.” He presses a light kiss to the top of David’s head. 

"Ask me again," David tells him. "What I want, ask me."

“What do you want?” Farouk asks him, obedient in his pleasure. He’s smiling. “Tell me.”

"I want this," David says, feeling the truth of it. "I want us. I want you, Amahl. I want to always be yours." He looks up at Amahl's face, expectant.

Farouk feels a frisson of doubt. “Tell me why,” he pushes. He wants David to prove it to him, to prove that this is what he really wants. No matter how hard he tries, he can’t seem to forget what he told David before:  _ You can’t make someone love you.  _

David feels Amahl's doubt, and like Amahl's certainty, he feels it as his own. He doesn't want that doubt, he wants their euphoric satisfaction back. He wants all the bad feelings to stay away. "Because we're one," he tells Amahl, insistent. "We're what we need."

“Yes,” Amahl says, and pulls David tight against him, as if David could do for him what he did to David: wash away the uncertainties of life in a flood of drugged joy. “Stay with me,” he says, his eyes shut. “Forever.”

There's nothing Amahl wants more than that, and so there's nothing David wants more. 

  
  



	3. You need me and I need you. Why fight it?

It's the feeling of another body beside his that pulls David from the depths of sleep. He was down deep, in a long and restful sleep like he can't ever remember having before. And the warm body beside him—

It comes back to him in a trickle, and then a rush. Amahl— No,  _ Farouk _ — The hotel, the sex, the cell, the crown, the trial, the— He reaches up and feels the crown still on his head, tugs at it because he has to try and then stops because it isn't budging. Because there are bigger problems he has to deal with.

He's alone in himself again, his mind, his body. Farouk's asleep beside him, and David slips out of the bed, barely allowing himself to breathe until he's off the mattress and Farouk hasn't moved. 

His first instinct is to run, to get the hell out while he still can, while he's still  _ himself _ . But then he remembers— Division 3. No powers.  _ Fuck _ . In the clear light of day, his situation is just as bad as it was before, when desperation drove him to— 

What did he do?  _ What did he do? _ He let Farouk walk right back in, make himself at home, a hermit crab crawling back into its shell.  _ No _ . David is not a shell, he's not going to just surrender everything he is. He doesn't know why Farouk didn't take him over permanently, he obviously had nothing stopping him. He could have never let David wake up alone ever again. They could have stayed— Whole.

David fights against the yearning that spikes in him. It must be Farouk's yearning, but— Farouk is still asleep, still out of him. David knows that because— The absence hurts again, the way it has for weeks. Farouk’s absence. 

The realization confuses him, makes him restless. He doesn't know what to do. Run and hide? Turn himself in? Hope that Division 3 won't just execute him on sight, or— 

Or stay? 

He doesn't know. 

There's a wet, sticky feeling inside him, between his legs, and he flushes as he realizes what it is. He's sore inside, tender. He looks down at his body, touches it, feels the bite mark from when Farouk—  _ Amahl— _ David rubs his face, confused. Away from the warm bed, from the heat of Amahl's—  _ Farouk's _ body, he's chilled. He grabs his clothes and one of the silk robes the hotel provided, and goes to the bathroom to clean up and think and hopefully find some way to make sense of his life.

When he returns, Farouk is sitting up on the bed. His suit jacket is folded neatly on the bedside table, but his shirt looks perfectly clean, no evidence of last night’s activities remaining.

_ “Bonjour, mon cher,”  _ Farouk says, smiling his smug little smile. “Did you sleep well?”

David gives him a perfunctory scowl, but his heart isn't in it. It's hard to be angry after— All  _ that _ . "Fine," he says, stubbornly. 

“Having second thoughts?” Farouk asks, chuckling. “I didn’t do anything you didn’t ask for, my dear. And now your mind is your own, once again. Isn’t that what you wanted?”

David doesn't know what he wanted. He doesn't know if that's what he got. Looking back that whole experience was— Amazing, terrifying, and a thousand other things he doesn't have the strength to pick apart. He put his head in the lion's mouth and the lion let him take it out again. "I guess that whole performance was just to make me trust you," he says, determined to stay in a bad mood because  _ Farouk took him over _ , of course he should be in a bad mood! 

“Is it working?” Farouk asks, with a wry little smile.

David gives him another scowl, and this time he means it.

“You were afraid,” Farouk says, taking his sunglasses out of his suit pocket and putting them back on. “You were alone with the monster, and you believed I would hurt you. Take advantage of you. Steal your body and soul. And I did not. Why shouldn’t you trust me?” He looks back up at David. 

David wishes he had a good answer to that. "So what now?" he asks.

“Stay with me,” Farouk offers. There’s hunger in his voice. “Let me take care of you.”

David is fairly sure he knows what that means. In fact, he understands Farouk a lot better now that they've—  _ Reunited _ . He might not understand  _ why _ Farouk feels the way he does, but after experiencing those feelings directly, wholly— It's impossible for him to deny that they're real.

Maybe Farouk is still lying to him, setting him up for another fall. But David can't see how he could fall any lower. 

"If I agree to stay with you, will you take the crown off?" David challenges.

Farouk pulls his sunglasses down to study David’s face. His eyes are bright and piercing, and David knows Farouk is seeing right through him. “Yes,” Farouk says. “I will.” He puts the sunglasses back in place. “When you tell me that and it is the truth.”

David starts to protest, then huffs in annoyance. The whole point of getting his powers back is so he doesn't have to rely on Farouk to protect him from Division 3. But of course Farouk knew that before David even had a chance to put the thought together for himself. David might as well be stuck in another orb for all the freedom he has.

“I could always take you back,” Farouk says, with a little conspiratorial smile— as if he and David are sharing a private joke. “If that is what you would  _ prefer.” _

David crosses his arms. He’s not going back to that cell. "So my choice is to stay with you until I don't want to leave, or stay with you because you won't let me go?"

“You need me, my dear,” Farouk says, meeting David’s eyes. “And I need you. We both know that. Why fight it?”

After last night, that question is a lot harder for David to reject. He should reject it because— Farouk invaded him, tortured him, hurt the people David loves. He's not a lion, he's a scorpion, he's just waiting until they're in the middle of the river before he jabs his poison in. David has thirty years of reasons for why staying with Farouk is an absolutely terrible idea.

But after last night— He knows Farouk won't let him go. He  _ knows _ it, and maybe that does make him a prisoner, a helpless captive. But even if he needs Farouk — to protect him, to salve the emptiness inside him — he knows that Farouk needs him, too. Farouk  _ wants _ him, maybe even loves him, in his twisted way. Farouk feels the same emptiness, the separation, the  _ break _ .

David's spent much of his life in a state of confusion, not knowing the truth, unable to control anything in his life. He's gone from high to low and back again so many times he doesn't know what he wants anymore, except peace, and he doesn't know if Amahl— If  _ Farouk _ is the only way he'll find that peace or if he's the reason he'll never get it.

“It’s not true, you know,” Farouk says. He’s still watching David carefully. “This story in your head, the frog and the scorpion. We are not so easily defined as that. We are more than villain and victim.”

"You're the one who was all— Heroes and villains," David points out.

“Was I?” Farouk asks. “I didn’t start this. I did not choose to be the monster under your bed.” 

The evasion makes David instantly furious and disgusted. "You didn't mind crawling all over me and boasting about sucking me dry when you were pretending to be Lenny," he says, barely able to contain his anger. "What, did you forget that you didn't erase those memories? Are you just so used to lying that you don't know the truth anymore?"

Farouk scowls. “Now you’ve been in my mind too. You know I am not lying.” 

"Do I?" David asks. "It's all electricity, chemicals, right? I should know better than to trust my own mind."

Farouk studies David’s face, thoughtful. “The truth is what we make it, my dear,” he says. “You and I.”

"You know what the truth is?" David says, marching up to him. "It's  _ this _ ." He points at the faded scar across his neck. "The scars you gave me didn't just vanish the next day."

Farouk’s eyes move to the scar, and he frowns. “They could,” he says, stepping closer to David. He reaches out, and David freezes as Farouk runs the tip of his finger, feather-light, along the length of the scar. “Look.” He takes David by the shoulder and turns him to face the closest mirror. In the reflection, the scar is gone, vanished from sight. “I can undo the damage I have done,” he says. He meets David's eyes in the mirror. “You understand that, don’t you? You would do the same for someone that you love.” He doesn’t say  _ Syd,  _ but he doesn't have to.

Something snaps in David, outrage and guilt and fury rushing up and spilling over. The next thing he knows, he's kneeling over Farouk on the floor, his hands around his neck, squeezing with all his strength.

Farouk struggles under him, his fingernails scrabbling at David’s hands as if, for a moment, he’s forgotten his own powers. Cold, sharp fear floods David, but it’s not him, it’s Farouk, panicking, thinking  _ no no this can’t be happening I had him  _ **_I had him—_ **

And then David is thrown back away from Farouk, his head slamming hard against the wall. He crumples to the floor, stunned limp, head screaming with agony.

Farouk is on his feet, striding towards David. “Is this how you repay me?” he hisses, his voice low and dangerous. “I saved you. From Division 3, from your worthless paramour, from the noose you wrapped around your own neck. I am the only one who will ever care about you,  _ joonam.  _ I. Me. These others? They are  _ nothing.  _ They are like this— ” He jerks his head towards the mirror. “Reflection, with no substance. And yet you choose to crawl among them like an  _ insect—  _ even when they turn on you! Even when they accuse you!” He leans in, his eyes burning. “You’re  _ mine.  _ I made you that way. Do you know why? It wasn’t because of your father, or for your powers, or your body. It is because  _ you  _ did this to me. You changed me. And I will not let you walk away untouched.”

David barely registers Farouk’s ranting. There’s something  _ wrong  _ in his head, something— A warm wetness trickles down his neck, blood? The crown spikes, when he hit the wall— Oh. He's  _ dying _ . He would laugh, but he can't— 

“It doesn’t matter,” Farouk says, harshly. “Do you think you can escape me that easily?” 

Farouk snaps his fingers and David is pulled up to hang, suspended, where he was the moment before he struck the wall. The wrongness in his head goes away, his flesh knitting itself back together, healing until it’s as though it was never hurt. Reeling with shock, he strains to move, to get his feet to the floor, but fails. 

“My dear, my dear,” Farouk says, his voice deceptively soft now. “You’ve tried this before. Death won’t save you from me.”

Farouk reaches out and runs one finger down David’s cheek. David tries to pull away but Farouk's powers hold him tight. 

The one thing David can still do is speak, so he hurts Farouk the only way he can. "I will never love you."

Farouk grits his teeth, his wide eyes searching David’s face and mind for some sign that he’s lying. “You  _ made  _ me love you,” he says. “There must be a way. There  _ must  _ be a way.”

"Never," David says again, darkly glad. "You know what last night was? It was just you loving  _ yourself _ . You wanna brainwash me? Put thoughts in my head to make me love you?  _ That will never be me _ ."

Fury washes through Farouk, and David can feel it like flame, searing him. He clenches his eyes shut. Farouk is going to kill him now, and there’s nothing he can do to stop it. It’s over. 

And then his body drops to the floor again, landing in a graceless heap. He just manages to avoid hitting his head. The last thing he wants is to feel the crown’s spikes tearing through his brain for a second time. 

There’s a  _ click  _ as the crown unlocks itself. It retracts its spikes from his head and falls to the ground. David stares at it for a breathless moment, feeling his powers rush back to him. He spares one last glance for Farouk, sees him standing at the window, his back to David.

_ “Boro,” _ Farouk says, softly.  _ Go.  _

David swallows his questions. The next moment, the hotel suite is gone, Farouk is gone, and David's sitting atop a grassy hill under an evening sky, nothing but rolling green in all directions. He collapses in relief and clutches at his head. His hands come away bloody from the wounds the crown's metal spikes left behind, but he's never been so glad to bleed.

He wants to believe that it's over, that Farouk has realized this thing between them can never work. But if what he felt last night was at all real— It's not over. It'll never be over. David's a double-fugitive now, trying to save himself from yet another person who wants to change him into something he's not.

"Oh, it’s over," the second voice says, suddenly returning. “We’re telling you it’s over.”

"We can't believe you did that," the first voice says, horrified but resigned. "What the hell?"

"Please don't," David says, in no mood to be lectured by his own brain. Assuming the voices are even his own. Didn't Farouk say something about knowing them? 

"Yeah, you're never doing anything that stupid ever again," the second voice says anyway.

"At least we're free now," the first voice says. "You can go get help, real help."

"Oh leave him alone," the second voice says. "He's been through a lot, let him rest. Hey, where are we, anyway?"

"The other side of the world," David says, and lies back, looking up at the sky. He just wanted to get as far away as he possibly could, so he did. 

He wants his head to stop bleeding, so it does, the blood gone from his hands like it was never there. He looks up at the sky and wants to see the stars. So the low sun quickly sets for him and a whole new night sky reveals itself, countless stars and constellations he's only ever known from his father's astronomy books.

Maybe Farouk was right about one thing: maybe he is a god. Maybe it's time he started acting like one. He wonders, worried, if Farouk left something behind in him, for David to have that thought. But he just feels like himself.

  
  



End file.
